


Cat and Mouse

by janescott, jeck



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Adam Lambert - Fandom, American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeck/pseuds/jeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy's tired of playing mouse to Adam's cat. Steamy, filthy tour bus PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat and Mouse

  
Adam can't get comfortable. The air on the bus is so hot, he feels like he can reach out and touch it. There's a fan, of sorts, churning away in the corner, but it's not cooling things down so much as it is shifting the hot air from one spot to another.

Of course the air con on the bus had to break down in the middle of fucking summer in the middle of fucking - Adam doesn't even know where they are at this point. His clothes are sticking to him as he lays down on the sofa, lifting the thick hair at the back of his neck with his hands for a moment before closing his eyes.

The bus is empty apart from the slightly irritating grind of the fan; LP, Monte, Tommy and Lisa having gone into the small town they've stopped on the outskirts of before that night's show. They'd asked Adam to come along - find some place with air con - a diner maybe, or something, but Adam had weighed up the peace of the bus - stifling as it was - with the possibility of being recognised and he just doesn't feel up to being nice to people.

Pulling his t-shirt away from his torso - again - he turns on his side and reaches for the bottle of water that he'd got out of the tiny fridge less than 10 minutes ago, and - "Fuck," he says, in disgust, his fingers slipping on the slightly sweaty bottle. It's warm already.

He spins the cap off anyway, and drinks half of it down, resisting the urge to pour the rest of it over his head. He puts the bottle on the floor instead and closes his eyes again, seeking the sleep that's been eluding him since the air conditioning had broken down the day before.

The door creaks open and Tommy walks in. He looks up, brushing the hair away from his eyes, seeing Adam who looks like he's sleeping and quietly as he can, he heads to the back, toward the bunks. He forgot his wallet and Tommy and the band were already in the diner when he notices. Monte offers to pay but Tommy declines, telling them he'll run back to the bus and come back. He's gotten this gig and he's more than willing to pay for a meal on his own, thanks, and as much as Monte's being generous and all, he rather likes being able to pay his way and not be some charity case just because among the group, he's the one that hasn't done this before, the one that's unknown.

So, there he is, creeping past the sofa, the floor letting out a small squeak that makes his face wince. Tommy's eyes are quick to glance Adam's way, hoping he doesn't wake him up especially since he's not really slept well the past few nights. Yes, Tommy's noticed.

Adam's eyes flutter open as Tommy goes past, and he smiles, amused that Tommy's trying to be quiet for his sake. "What're you doing back here? Thought you guys went in search of cooler climates," he says, sitting up and stretching as he rolls his neck. He'd been close enough to sleep that his brain feels fuzzy and opaque.

"Did I wake you?" Tommy is quick to ask, his hand reaching for the back of his neck, feeling sweat and heat and then he's wiping at his forehead, combing back his hair that's already sweat-damp. "Forgot my wallet," he points to the bunks, eyes fixed on Adam's neck, watching muscles move and flex and he knows he's staring, so he drags his eyes away. "It's nice in there, you know? You should come."

Adam flops back against the sofa, spreading his arms out and kicking his legs up on to the coffee table. "I traded," he says, waving a lazy hand around as the fan grinds out another round of hot air. "Peace and quiet in a fucking sauna beat out air conditioning and autograph signings." Adam bends over and picks up the water bottle, draining the rest of it, even though it truly is disgustingly warm now. He waves the empty water bottle at Tommy and says, "Would you mind getting me another one? This was fucking warm."

It really is hot inside that bus and Tommy feels the intense heat, his shirt beginning to stick to his back and it makes him fidget; it's uncomfortable. He feels sweat beading along his hairline, on the tip of his nose, over his lips but still he manages to lift a brow as he looks over at Adam. "You're the one who wants to stay in this oven. You should get your own fucking water." But Tommy grabs the empty water bottle anyway, crushing it between his hands, tossing it in the recycle receptacle and heads over to the small refrigerator.

"So you really think that this is the better trade off?" It's so fucking hot that Tommy thinks there is no way anyone can last in this heat. Especially Adam. He picks up two bottles and leaves the door open for a bit. The air in the small refrigerator is cool and even if it's small relief, it's still better than the stale, dry air around them. "Here," Tommy tosses one to Adam, the other he takes and places it over his temple, sighing softly as the coolness seeps through his heated skin.

"Thanks," Adam says, his eyes glued to Tommy suddenly, watching a bead of water from the bottle track from his temple, down the side of his face ... slide down his neck ... Adam shakes his head a little bit when it soaks into the front of Tommy's t-shirt. The heat's affecting more than just his brain, apparently. He rests his own bottle against his own overheated cheek for a second, closing his eyes as the sudden change in temperature sends a small, welcome shiver through his body.

"So," he says, slightly amused and slightly puzzled as he watches Tommy fidget with the bottle, "Are you going back to your nice air-conditioned diner with the others? Or are you planning to cook right along here with me?" Adam pulls his shirt away from his torso again, sweat and heat and Tommy's sudden, unexpected proximity making his skin feel itchy and hot for reasons that have nothing to do with broken air conditioners and everything to do with too-pretty, oblivious straight boys.

Tommy wrestles with the bottle, his clammy palms making his hold slippery that he groans just to twist that cap off and relieved when the telltale crack of the plastic ring finally gives. He takes large gulps, downing half, adam's apple bobbing and the cool water feels so good sliding down his throat. He meets Adam's gaze and it's hard to ignore the way his shirt clings to him, damp at the chest that his eyes seems to have drifted down, Tommy speaking to Adam's shirt. "Is that your way of asking me to stay? Need someone to be with to suffer in this heat?" Tommy shakes his head slowly, forcing his eyes to look at Adam's only to have his attention catch that small, thin rivulet of sweat that slides down Adam's temple. "You want me to stay? You gotta be more convincing than that, baby boy."

Adam laughs and swings his feet to the floor, shifting over on the sofa and patting the cushion. "Might as well stay, now you're here. Sit. Talk. Entertain me," Adam says, quirking his mouth up into a quick smile before taking a long swallow of his own drink, nearly groaning at how fucking good the cold water feels. He curls his tongue for a moment, holding as much of the water in his mouth as he can before swallowing, watching as Tommy edges around the coffee table and collapses beside him, keeping a slightly cautious-looking distance between them.

"Entertain you?" Tommy laughs. "That's, like, the best you can do to convince me?" He places his foot on the coffee table, much like Adam had his earlier, twisting just a little to get a better look. "I think the heat's gone to your head." Tommy pushes his fingers through his hair, combing it back and he can feel how damp it is now, making it stick up in odd places and Tommy's really annoyed with it. He wonders why Adam's hair still looks just like it did earlier, it's amazing. "You should be convincing me to stay, remember?" He smirks at Adam. "But fine, I'll stay and only because it's too fucking hot out there and that diner is at least a block away. And I'm not passing up the chance to have _you_ entertain _ me_."

"Oh, really?" Adam says, turning to face Tommy, raising his eyebrows. He's starting to enjoy himself, and that surprises him a little bit. He hasn't really spent a lot of one-on-one time with Tommy - partly because the tour's been so crazy, nearly every night in a different town, and it's partly self-imposed, because Adam swore - fucking _swore_ that after Idol he wouldn't let himself get this close to another straight guy he found just a little bit too attractive. It's too distracting, and draining in ways that Adam just doesn't have the energy for.

But somehow the heat has burned away Adam's rules, his inhibitions, and his common sense as he finds himself saying, "And just how can I do that, Tommy Joe?" Adam takes another drink to give his hands something to do that's _not_ smoothing down the bit of Tommy's sweat-sticky hair that's sticking out to the side of his head. Adam has an insane urge to scratch at his fingertips, until they stop wanting to fucking _touch_.

Tommy stretches an arm over the back of the sofa, shrugging his shoulder, his other hand holding his sweating bottle of water. "I don't know. Something that would make this stinking heat go away. Or at least make me forget about it." He leans his head back and his gaze slowly move over Adam, taking in the beads of sweat on his brow, the way his hair begins to stick to his skin, eyeliner smeared with a sheen of sweat under his eyes. Tommy reaches out and touches the pad of his finger to the tip of Adam's nose, pulling it back, rubbing the sweat off with his thumb. "We seriously need to cool down, man. This place is literally an oven and I think you're just about ready to be thoroughly cooked."

Adam blinks in surprise when Tommy touches his nose, but the echo of it stays when he takes his hand back; the scrape of Tommy's callouses making Adam want to scratch at the spot. He bites his lip before he offers to lick the tip of Tommy's thumb clean for him, and has to wonder what the fuck he's doing all of a sudden.

He feels loose, and a little bit dangerous; rebellious like a teenager, but Adam had never been that kind of teenager.

"Something to make you forget about the heat," Adam says slowly, filling up the silence that's starting to spin out a little bit too far. He pushes his hair back from his forehead and grimaces when his hand slips a little bit in his sweaty hairline. What he'd really like right now is a bathtub full of ice chips, but if he has to settle for Tommy looking like fucking sin in hell with his hair pushed back and his eyeliner smudging, making his eyes look even darker and his lashes sootier and longer than usual, then ... "Hmm. What about ... generating a different kind of heat?" Adam asks before he can stop himself. Okay. That was stupid. Really, really stupid. There's flirting, and then there's crossing the line. And Adam has a feeling he hasn't so much crossed the line as burned all evidence of it behind him.

Huh. Tommy isn't exactly sure what it is that Adam wants, what he's suggesting and he cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowing. He watches him with intensity, his brown eyes large and observant, his lips in a thin line, his expression not discernible. What is it that Adam wants? What is it that he wants? It's not as if he's not found Adam attractive because he has, not gonna lie. He likes it when Adam's all nice and close, too. Being real sweet and all. Add to that how too fucking generous Adam has been with him, taking him to concerts and parties and letting the newbie hang around and rub elbows with the music stars. It's a dream come true and Adam is letting it happen to Tommy, practically laying it all out in front of him like some smorgasbord, a buffet, all his for the taking.

"What kind of heat?" Tommy finally asks but his voice comes out a little gruffer, lower, his eyes, on their own accord, moving over Adam's body, taking in the way he's sitting on the sofa, the dampness on his shirt, the sweat that's now running lines down the side of his face. A brief moment and Tommy's wondering what Adam will think if he leans in to catch that drop of sweat with his tongue.

Whoa. Where did that come from? The heat's seriously fucking with Tommy's head now. Or maybe, it's being this close and alone with Adam.

Adam has to close his eyes for a moment against the look on Tommy's face, and the sudden shift in tone of Tommy's voice, because otherwise he's going to reach out and pull Tommy on top of him, and kiss him stupid - messy, and sweaty and hot, and - Adam takes a deep breath when he realises he's starting to pant a little bit. He opens his eyes and flicks his tongue out, catching a drop of sweat by the corner of his mouth, rolling the salt flavour on his tongue for a moment before taking another swallow of water, buying a little time so he doesn't answer Tommy with "Locking us in the bathroom and fucking you like an animal," because surely that's not what Tommy means. Not at all. It's the heat. It has to be the heat.

Adam turns his head and meets Tommy's gaze again. Oh. _Oh_. Well. No mistaking _that_ look, which is dark and fiery and _wanting_ all at once. Adam hesitates for a moment, the sane, still-cool part of his brain chanting _bad idea bad idea bad idea_, but, fuck, he's only human, and he's been stuck on the bus with Tommy for weeks now, at too-close quarters and Adam feels like he's going out of his fucking mind right now.

"Come here," he says, his own voice low and husky, but sounding too loud suddenly in the thick heat of the bus. "Let me show you."

Tommy meets Adam's gaze, matching its intensity, his eyes not wavering and he sits there slowly lifting the water bottle to his lips. He swallows, gulping down the rest of the water in the bottle quickly that it spills from the side of his mouth, his chin, water running in thin rivulets down his throat and to the neck of his shirt, dampening it. God, that feels good though it doesn't really do anything to cool him down. He can see in Adam's eyes, hear it in his voice, there's something he wants and there's no mistaking it now.

But, see, Tommy kind of knew that already and slowly he smirks, shifting, crawling over the seat while he puts the bottle down on the coffee table and it falls to its side, rolling off the table, to the ground, moving much like Tommy is. Slow, deliberate, like a lion stalking prey. "Show me." It's like a challenge, really. A dare. Tommy likes dares and he's calling Adam on this one. Come and get it.

Adam's gaze is caught by the water spilling down Tommy's chin and his neck, his tongue flicking out again, unconsciously, because he wants to run his tongue up the side of Tommy's neck, tracing the path of the water. He wants to know what it tastes like on Tommy's overheated skin. He sits still, though, just watching as Tommy moves towards him, slow but intent, and Adam's reminded again of a cat: Tommy's movements are sleek and graceful, his eyes on Adam's mouth. Adam's fingers twitch and dig into the sofa before all of Adam suddenly seems to think ah, fuck it, and reaches out, sliding a hot, sweat-damp hand along Tommy's arm before gripping his wrist, tight.

"Be very sure, Tommy, that this is what you want. Because there's no going back," Adam says, feeling the bones of Tommy's thin wrist shift and slip in his palm. Adam can't take the look in Tommy's eyes any more, suddenly, and focuses instead on a drop of sweat, or water, running down Tommy's neck, magnifying the skin underneath, like it's marking a path for Adam's mouth to follow.

The grip is tight and Tommy looks at Adam's fingers curling around his wrist and then his eyes slowly move up to Adam's face, blinking slowly to focus on him. "Been playing cat and mouse for a while now, baby boy." It's like a game, this. Starting from Adam taking Tommy with him to various events, hell, even his ex-boyfriend's exhibit, his friend's parties, Gaga's concert. Adam touches, he lets go. He kisses. He walks ahead of him, always several steps away. Gives him a good eye-fucking while they perform. Touching. Letting go. It's like a push-pull and all Tommy can do is go along for the ride.

But not anymore. He stops stalking, ending up almost over Adam's lap, dark-lined eyes intense and anchored to Adam. "I'm no fucking mouse." And it's Tommy who covers the distance, telling Adam that he's sure about this and that he knows, oh, yeah, he _knows_ that there's no going back by taking Adam's lips in his and the kiss he gives is bruising.

Tommy's mouth on his takes Adam by surprise at first, and his body freezes. It feels like slow-motion, like his limbs and torso lock into place one part at a time, and he half-expects Tommy to back down, but he doesn't - he keeps pushing: tangling his fingers in Adam's hair and scraping his fingers over the scorched, sweaty skin at the back of Adam's neck.

That touch - that rough scratch on too-sensitive skin - is what unlocks Adam's arms, and legs - and his mouth. He opens up and pushes his tongue roughly into Tommy's mouth, gripping Tommy's hips hard; moving them both until they're lying almost horizontal, his hands roaming restlessly over Tommy's body before coming to rest on his neck, burning-hot and almost too-tight as he shifts his legs lightning-fast, capturing Tommy's slight body between his legs, pinning him to the sofa.

It's already really, really hot inside that bus and no amount air from the turning of the fan or even the open refrigerator door can possibly relieve this heat that's burning like wildfire all over Tommy's body. Adam's hands are not helping. They move over Tommy and it feels like it's searing his flesh through his clothes and adds to the already red flush on his skin. It's like Adam's touch is electric, the sharp current like a trail of liquid heat that rushes with the blood running in his veins. Tommy gasps just to take in air, pulling Adam down over him again, their lips locked, his mouth parting, tongue pushing inside Adam's mouth and he tastes him. _Tastes_ him again and it's like a fucking drug Tommy can't get enough of.

Tommy lays there beneath Adam, rocking his hips up, rubbing over him, wanting friction, delicious friction and he moves with a rise and fall, mimicking a fuck. He wants to feel Adam hard between the legs, yearning to feel _anything_ Adam will give him. It's been a long game and Tommy thinks that this time, it should be over. He's getting what he wants; he's giving Adam what he needs no matter how much his head is convincing his cock that this is one bad fucking idea. Nope. There's no turning back now.

There's not enough air. There's not enough fucking _air_ and Adam's surprised his hands don't stick to Tommy's skin, hot and slick when he shoves them under his t-shirt Tommy's bucking up harder, his eyes wide and his liner smudging and running a little bit. Adam presses down, rocking his hips and digging his fingers into the soft skin right above Tommy's slender hips. Suddenly it's not enough. If they're going to do this, then Adam has to _see_. He pushes roughly at Tommy's t-shirt again, rocking back to give Tommy room to pull it over his head and toss it to the floor.

"Better," Adam murmurs, not aware of having spoken. Tommy arches his neck and Adam just stares for a moment at the jut of Tommy's collarbones, a sheen of sweat overlaying his skin. Adam lowers his head and licks a lazy stripe along one collarbone and up the line of Tommy's neck, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin behind Tommy's ear, which causes Tommy to rock up under him, his hard-on pressing against Adam's, rough and sudden, the friction making Adam groan suddenly into Tommy's neck, as he snaps his hips down hard, his cock hard and fucking painful now.

"I need - I need," he says, breathless, panting and so fucking _hard_ as he digs his fingers into Tommy's hipbones and feels Tommy's hands scratch suddenly at the skin on his back, making Adam arch up, rolling his hips back down, desperate and wild, his mouth tight on Tommy's neck.

The heat is stifling it makes breathing even harder that Tommy's panting harshly. His hard dick isn't helping though and he rocks up against Adam, groaning. Tommy pushes his hands up Adam's back, making his shirt bunch up, fingers digging into his skin, sliding up and down following his spine slick with sweat. He moves lower, cupping Adam's ass with one hand, pulling him down while Tommy arches his body wanting fucking friction, touch, skin on fucking skin. "What do you need?" Tommy's voice rumbles, voice low, the air seemingly making the sounds they make hover close it's so thick with heat.

Adam braces himself on his hands, resting his forehead against Tommy's, the feel of Tommy's hands on his skin sparking through him like a thousand tiny electrical currents. What does he need? He needs to take Tommy apart. He needs to see Tommy come apart under him, watch his eyes roll back in his head as Adam fucks him, buried deep in Tommy's ass, the coiling heat low in his gut suddenly burning hotter and faster than the sluggish air on the bus, still being lazily churned by the damn fan.

"I need-" Adam starts to say, his voice on the wrong side of desperate, when there's a buzz from Tommy's pocket, which makes him arch up and cry out at the unexpected stimulation.

"Lie still, I'll get it," Adam says, backing up and digging into Tommy's pocket, pulling out his phone and checking the display. It's Monte: _u comin back?_ it says.

Adam frowns, and blinks sweat out of his eyes, shaking his head before he taps out: _gonna stay on bus w/A_. He shows it to Tommy, who just nods frantically, pulling at Adam again, rolling his hips up and pressing his dick - a hard outline against the black of his jeans - against Adam's leg. Adam lets Tommy's phone clatter to the floor and covers his mouth again, telling Tommy what he needs silently with his tongue, and his body and his cock which is so fucking hard Adam thinks it's going to burst right out of his jeans.

Fuck, it's getting hotter in that fucking bus and Tommy thinks that they should really shed the rest of their clothes. He tugs on Adam's damp shirt right after he drops Tommy's phone and he tosses it somewhere on the floor, too. Adam has chest hair and there's beading sweat there, Tommy put his palms flat on Adam's chest and slid them up his body, wet, slippery, finger finding a nipple and he toyed with it.

"What do you need?" Tommy asks again, his lips parted, dry from the heat and from panting too hard.

His hands are quick to reach for his own jeans, tugging the belt open, his eyes flicking from that to Adam's face. He needs relief, pants too tight that it's fucking cutting off the circulation to his dick. He fumbles the zipper of his jeans, fingers slippery from sweat, the heat making him feel lightheaded already that it adds to the haze in his head brought on by lust and Adam's presence. "Fuck!"

Adam sits back, grabbing at Tommy's hands. "Stop. Let me," he says, pulling the zipper down and freeing Tommy's dick from the confines of his jeans. Frantically Tommy starts pushing his jeans down his legs, his wriggling and scrambling really not helping Adam's own situation. He clamps down on Tommy's wrists and says, "I said. Stop," in the don't-fuck-with-me tone that he doesn't use very often, and he's never used it on Tommy before, but it works. Tommy stills, panting, his body sheened with sweat and flushed.

Adam makes short work of Tommy's shoes and jeans, shoving them unceremoniously to the floor, before stripping the rest of his own clothes off, unable to suppress a groan of relief as his cock springs free. He strokes it for a moment, idly letting his eyes roam over Tommy's body, supine and loose on the sofa. "What do I need, Tommy? Let me tell you what I need," Adam says, deliberately pitching his voice as low as he can, as he lowers himself over Tommy's body again, urging Tommy's legs apart and settling himself between them as Tommy's knees lock around his hips, the hot-slick slide of sweaty skin-on-skin so much fucking _better_.

"I need," Adam whispers right in Tommy's ear, making his earrings shake a little bit, "to open you up. Slowly. I need to taste your skin, and make my mark on you," Adam whispers, relentless as Tommy bucks up helplessly under him, his hands gripping Adam's ass as tight as he can, his callouses catching on the sensitive skin and making Adam moan - hot and filthy - into Tommy's neck.

"I need," Adam whispers again, "to fuck you into this sofa until you fall apart right under me. Slide my cock right into your tight ass - I bet it's really fucking tight, Tommy - fill you up and fuck you out," he says, still low, his hands roaming over Tommy's body again, touching everywhere but his cock, which is rocking against Adam's just right for just the wrong side of too-much stimulation, until the only sound on the bus is the fan, and the hum of the refrigerator, and their harsh panting breath.

Jesus fuck. Tommy isn't ready for this, desperate as he is he feels like he just jumped in deep waters and he can't swim out. His breath hitches and he arches his back because Adam above him, naked and slick with sweat feels so fucking _good_ that it makes him so hard he swears he'll come just by them rubbing up on each other like this. "Fuck, Adam." He gently pushes on Adam's shoulders. "I-I--!" He trembles so hard that Tommy closes his eyes until it passes. "Fuck!"

Adam's words seem to keep running around in his head. Like a record that skips and keeps repeating the same verse over and over and over again. _...open you up ... taste your skin ... make my mark on you..._ Fuck! He wants that. Tommy wants that. Goddamn it he isn't in the right mind to think of _why_ he wants this with Adam just that he _does_.

_...fill you up and fuck you out_...

Tommy moans, writhing underneath Adam, his eyes dark and hooded, watching Adam's face, then his hand on his cock, stroking and he wants to feel that, too. Adam _touching him_ that his hand moves on their own volition, curling around his cock and stroking. Now he's the one full of need.

Tommy writhing under him like that, his hand stroking his cock, desperate and tight, pre-come smearing over his long fingers, is almost more than Adam can take and he's on the verge of coming himself - he can see it almost, mixing in with the sweat on Tommy's flat stomach, pooling over his hipbones and dripping on to the sofa. But. He wants more than sloppy, dirty handjobs, no matter how hot it would be. "Stop," he says, the word strangling in his throat a little, because he really, he really doesn't want Tommy to stop, but he needs him to. He grabs Tommy's wrist again and ignores the frustrated moan and the arch of Tommy's neck as Adam thwarts him.

"You've got a choice here, Tommy Joe. I'm going to let you decide. You can keep jacking yourself for me, all pretty-like, and fuck, Tommy, it _is_ pretty, or you can be a little bit more patient. Let me get what I need, and _really_ fuck you. It's up to you, but you'd better be quick, unless you want the others to see this. They'll probably be back soon."

Adam over him is already making his heart rate speed up to out of this world, his breathing already raspy that it takes a moment for the words to make sense and as soon as they do? Well, fuck. Tommy fucking _whimpers_.

"You're a fucking ass, you know that right?" Tommy scowls at Adam but then he lets go of his cock after giving himself one tight, long and leisurely pull. "Now how the fuck are we gonna do this?" God, it's so hot that Tommy's sweaty back sticks to the seat and each time he moves the pleather sofa squeaks but that discomfort is nothing, _nothing_ compared to what he feels inside. It's like he's being eaten alive by such a sharp pang of lust and heat and need that it almost doesn't matter that he's never really done this before. Fuck all that. All he can think about is Adam - and his words.

_...fill you up and fuck you out_...

Jesus _Christ_ just hearing Adam say that _in his head_ makes him come undone.

"Fuck me," Tommy gasped, hands tightening on Adam's arms. "Fuck me. Fuck me. _Fuck. Me_." Anything. God damned _anything_ just to rid himself of the immense heat in his body that comes from yearning to feel Adam _inside him_ and that intense fucking _need_ to come.

Jesus. Adam has to close his eyes for a moment, Tommy's voice careening around his brain: _fuck me_ \- so hot, so fucking desperate, and he's _begging_. Jesus. Adam runs his hands down Tommy's torso, soothing his movements. Adam shifts on the sofa and pulls a face when his skin sticks to the fake fucking leather. He looks around the bus, and his eyes fall on the bathroom door. Running, cold water. A door that locks. Condoms and lube in his makeup bag.

"Come on," he says, grabbing Tommy's wrists and hauling him up. "I have a better idea than us both sticking to this disgusting sofa." Adam pulls Tommy in, catching him as he stumbles, running his hands down his back and cupping his ass suddenly, squeezing it hard. "I'm gonna fuck you in front of the bathroom mirror, Tommy Joe, and you are going to watch yourself fall apart. What d'you think of that?" Adam asks, flicking out his tongue and licking a slow, lazy stripe up the side of Tommy's neck.

"I think you're gonna have the fucking time of your life. You like that don't you? Been wanting me for a while, huh?" He smirks, cocky, yeah, so what? Mostly it's to cover up his nerves because _damn!_ He's about to be _fucked_. Literally.

The door to the small tour bus bathroom creaks and it mixes with the sound of the whirring of the fan. Adam steps in and Tommy follows. It's hotter in here. Like a damned oven but Tommy's shaking like he's just stepped on ice, damn it. Naked and sweat slick, rivulets dripping down his chest and on his back it follows the line of his spine. Tommy sees his reflection in the mirror and already he looks utterly debauched, sweaty, hair sticking to the side of his face, his eyeliner smudged with a thin, dark line running down his cheek and they haven't really done anything yet. He doesn't know what to think of that. Just how desperate has he become?

His cock curves hard, the tip leaking, jutting outward and Tommy aches, fucking _aches_ for release that he's once again tempted to _touch_. He groans instead, eyes closing, hips rocking outward when he shifts his gaze toward Adam. Pale skin, freckles all over, a mix of angles and curves and those eyes -- fucking hungry and needy and it's because of him. God, Adam's fucking beautiful. No more of that push-pull shit now. It was fucking do or die.

Adam reaches behind Tommy and shuts the door, clicking the lock into place. He crowds Tommy against it, pressing their bodies together, hot and slippery as he kisses him again, hard and deep, filthy and long, grinding his hips forward, his body taking over as it seeks friction and release. He pulls back, breathing hard, and fuck if he doesn't get to fuck Tommy soon, he's going to embarrass himself right here.

"Turn ... turn the cold tap on. Run your - wrists under it. It'll help cool you down," Adam manages to get out, stumbling back and fumbling in his makeup bag for what he needs.

Tommy does as he's told, the water cool on his wrists but nowhere else. He doesn't say anything because the air is too thick, too stifling that it feels like it's closing in on him and he can't breathe. Or maybe it's Adam's presence that Tommy watches as he moves, naked, beautiful, right there in the small space and it's arousing, adding to even more heat in the room that it turns almost unbearable.

"Okay," he says, turning to Tommy and putting a wrapped condom and the lube bottle on the counter, "Just. Um." Shit. Adam closes his eyes and takes a breath of the stale, hot air, the sound of the water running an odd counterpoint. Tommy's leaning against the counter, just watching, water dripping down his hands to the floor.

Impulsively, Adam cups his hand under the tap and upends it over his head, shaking it out. "Better. Okay. Turn around. Brace your hands on the counter, and tell me ... have you done this before, Tommy, or do I need to play coach?" Adam asks, his tone a little teasing, but slightly off, even as he runs his hand down Tommy's back and slides it around suddenly to grab Tommy's dick, curling his fingers tight around the base and meeting Tommy's eyes in the mirror.

Tommy scowls at Adam. The hell? Does he look like he's not done things before? "I know what goes on, okay?" He sounds a bit put out really, but still he turns around and braces himself with his hands up against the outer edge of the sink. "I just..." he takes in a hot heavy breath and wipes the sweat from his brow with his water damp hand. Tommy feels the coolness but it's short-lived because then Adam's hands are on him, hot and searing his skin.

His breath hitches and the touch to his cock makes him gasp a sharp breath, his eyes suddenly wide looking back at Adam. "...h-haven't done it b-before." And then his hips begin to move, cock wanting to thrust in Adam's hand and god it feels so fucking _good_ that Tommy finds himself moaning. "God! Yeah!" He rocks his hips back and forth, back and forth, eyes getting heavier, hooded, mind in a lust-filled haze. "C'mon..." Tommy juts his ass back toward Adam.

"Jesus, Tommy," Adam breathes out, watching Tommy's ass, then his hips in the mirror as he rocks back and forth under Adam's touch. _I'm doing that. I'm making him lose fucking control like that_. Adam slowly uncurls his hand from Tommy's dick, meeting his eyes in the mirror, wild and dark, his cheeks flushed and his mouth swollen and open. Fuck. _Fuck_. Fumbling a little, Adam picks up the bottle of lube, snaps the top open and pours some on to his hand, slicking it over his fingers and sliding it slowly over Tommy's ass, pressing just the tip into Tommy's hole, looking up to gauge Tommy's reaction in the mirror, because Adam's determined to take his time if he can stand it, to make this good for Tommy; the opposite of his own first experience.

Tommy, however, derails that plan when he suddenly rocks back, and Adam's finger sinks in all the way, slick and tight and hot. Adam stills, swallowing, pressing his hard, aching dick into Tommy's side, trying to relieve a little pressure. "Fuck," Adam says, his voice going raspy and dry. "You're gonna fucking kill me, Tommy Joe."

"Don't want to fucking kill you but close." Tommy is shaking and his legs feel weak, thighs trembling and Adam's finger felt too fucking odd all up inside him. But he lets out a quivering breath, blinking rapidly before focusing on Adam's face in the mirror, slowly turning to look over his shoulder to watch Adam's face right there in front of him. Tommy rocks his hips, pushing against Adam's erection and then he reaches out, his hand hooks to the back of Adam's neck and he pulls him close, twisting his neck to the side, sweaty foreheads pressing together and already Tommy is panting.

"This is killing me, too, you know?" He knows what he's doing and he wants this; all that teasing and push-pulling had gone long enough already. Tommy fucking wants it so bad that his cock aches, fucking _aches_, hard and leaking pre-come that Tommy's almost begging for it. Almost.

The air around them is thicker, heavier, hot. Very hot. Tommy takes in a gasping breath before he touches their lips together, parting them, opening up to Adam in more than just the kiss and that damned finger inside him. "Do it. Fucking do it," he says between breaths, rolling his hips, wanting more, _more_. His fingers ache to feel Adam too that they card through his sweat-damp hair, fisting behind his head and keeping Adam right there. Right there. Deepen that kiss, yeah.

Adam wants to say something, maybe, but fuck, Tommy's so - so fucking - all Adam can do is open his mouth to Tommy's kiss, his finger moving a little faster, Tommy's hands tangled in his hair. Adam almost wants to stop, take a step back, because he's on sensory overload: Tommy's tongue, and Tommy's hands, and Tommy's fucking _hips_ rolling like that - instead, Adam slides another finger in, twisting them sideways, and pushing until he hits the spot that he knows is going to make Tommy see stars.

"Gonna fuck you so hard, Tommy Joe. You have no fucking clue," Adam murmurs, nipping at Tommy's shoulder when he pulls back from the kiss to take a breath, intent now on opening Tommy up as fast as he can because, fuck, if Adam doesn't get his cock into Tommy's ass very soon, he feels as though the world might end.

"Words, words," Tommy smirks but it morphs quickly with his mouth forming an O, a small gasp slipping out because God, Adam is fucking him with his fingers and he keeps pressing up against that spot inside him that makes him shut his eyes and see white. "Fuck!" He pants now, his hips continually rocking back and forth, pushing those fingers in, feeling himself loosen up, open and wanting while he desperately clutches on to the side of the sink.

"We're done - with the - cat and mouse game, remember?" Tommy's breath keeps hitching while his body continues to quiver. "This is, like, for real now. So stop talking and fuck me." A loud groan and then Tommy bends further down against the counter, his eyes reflecting back at him with a hunger inside it that even he's shocked to see. "Fuck me, baby boy. C'mon." He meets Adam's reflection, looks into his eyes.

Adam meets Tommy's eyes in the mirror and nearly loses his rhythm with his fingers. They're wide and dark; heated and smudged. He rubs a circle on Tommy's shoulder with his free hand as he eases a third finger in, catching his bottom lip in his teeth. "No more words. No more - g-games. Y-you need to open the - condom for me. Roll it on," Adam say, rolling his hips into Tommy at the same time, pressing his hard dick into Tommy's soft skin - probably hard enough to leave a mark, which makes Adam nearly fucking lose it right there.

"You caught me now, Tommy Joe. And I'm not going anywhere," Adam says softly, meeting Tommy's eyes in the mirror again, and flexing his fingers in Tommy's ass, pressing on his prostate, as he catches Tommy's mouth for another awkward, wet but impossibly searing-hot kiss.

Okay, Tommy purrs like a kitten as Adam kisses him, so what? It feels good and he shudders and moans when Adam hits that spot again. Jesus. He thinks he's going to come right there. "Fuck!" Tommy can feel Adam's dick rubbing up against him and he wants that real bad. Too much teasing and playing games can do that to someone, especially him who's about as sexual as Adam is. And those kisses? God! He lives on those and each time Adam kisses him, like at the Gaga concert, and on stage during some performances nearly always drives him fucking crazy. He loves kissing Adam and this right here is better. Hot and dirty and perfect.

Tommy pulls back panting now, then he stills his hips much as he can, lets Adam finger fuck him while he fumbles for the condom packet and tears it open with his teeth. He spits the foil out of his mouth, and wills his fingers to fucking work so he can slide that condom out of the packet. "Fuck. Stop. Lemme--!" Another shuddering wave of desire hits him and he softly moans, twisting his body, hands reaching for Adam's cock. "L-lemme--"

Tommy manages to make his fingers work, hands shaking, pinching the tip to roll the condom down Adam's long length. "Fuck, yes, do it. Fuck me, damn it!" Jesus, the wait has been too long.

Adam slowly pulls his fingers out, his eyes glued to Tommy's hands as they slide the condom on, and Adam has to bite the inside of his mouth to distract himself because, Jesus, the sight of Tommy's hands around his cock are nearly enough to set Adam off right there. He rubs a hand down Tommy's back, feeling the tight coiled shift of muscles under Tommy's skin as he tenses. He wants to ask Tommy if he's ready, but Adam realises just in time what a stupid fucking question that is. Tommy's been throwing out signals for _months_ and Adam's been the cock tease. Which he enjoyed for a change, but he feels a sliver of guilt now, seeing and hearing how fucking wrecked Tommy is.

He picks up the lube and slicks it over the condom, watching as Tommy braces his hands on the counter again, meeting Adam's eyes in the mirror. Tommy looks like he's been fucked already: his mouth is swollen, his cheeks flushed and his eyeliner is smudged and black under and around his eyes. Adam flicks his tongue out to catch a drop of sweat, the sudden silence in the bathroom heavy and hot. He leans on Tommy's back for a moment, savouring the skin contact before slowly pushing his hard, fucking _aching_ dick into Tommy's tight, waiting hole.

Tommy's knuckles turn white from gripping the sides of the sink and he groans really loud that it echoes in the small room. The air around them is already stifling hot but he swears it turns several degrees higher as Adam pushes that hard cock inside him. His desperation hurts, the pain of being fucked open, like he's being split in two, breaks him, sounds so foreign spills from his lips; part pained, part relief.

Blinking his eyes to rid himself of the sweat dripping down from his hairline makes Tommy look at himself in the mirror. He looks wretched, _needy_ and he can't look away. He bites his bottom lip to stifle the sounds he makes as Adam begins to pull back out, the skin gripping his hard length stretches, pulls. Fuck, it feels amazing already; a mix of pleasure and pain that leaves him shuddering helplessly as he clutches the sink even harder. That hard cock brushes past his prostate and no amount of biting his lip to painful, almost bleeding, stops his deep and urgent moaning.

This has been what Tommy's been dreaming of, craving, the image he sees in front of him in the mirror even more vivid than any fucking fantasy he's long imagined when he jerks himself off to the thought of Adam fucking him like this. "M-move. C'mon! F-fuck me." Because he wants Adam. Needs Adam.

Adam grips Tommy's hips tight as he pulls almost all the way out, and thrusts back in, trying to go slow, but hearing Tommy say "F-fuck me," like that - needy and stuttering makes Adam want to drive into him until they've gone beyond words. He pauses for breath, the air in the bathroom closer than ever. Tommy rocks back against him, impatient and wild, and something snaps in Adam then as Tommy writhes against him, his skin slick and hot, his cock hard and leaking.

"Stay with me, Tommy," Adam rasps out, holding on to Tommy's hips as tight as he can, the jutting bones sliding under his palm, as he starts fucking into Tommy harder and faster, torn between looking at Tommy's face in the mirror and watching his cock piston in and out of Tommy's ass.

"Where - the _fuck_ do you - think I'm going?!" He spits out, hands sliding on the edge of the sink because even Tommy's palms are fucking sweating, it's that hot inside the cramped room. Adam pounds into him so hard that his breath feels like it's being forced out of his lungs from Adam's dick deeply shoving up his ass. Whatever hard-on he's sporting is making him even harder after turning soft when Adam first thrust in and Tommy wants to touch it and then he wants to touch himself.

Tommy pushes up from the sink, his eyes on the mirror staring at Adam who looks absolutely hot that he straightens up and then Tommy is bent back over Adam's chest. His eyes flutter closed and then he turns his head enough to tuck his face at the crux of Adam's neck and shoulder, smelling sweat and musk and heat. He parts his mouth and flicks his tongue quickly along Adam's neck, nuzzling right there. "Fuck! Fuck!" Tommy wraps his hand around his cock and begins stroking, tugging at it moaning desperately as he jerks himself off while he rolls his hips to feel Adam's cock being thrust over and over and hard and deeper inside him. "Fuck!"

Adam wants to explain to Tommy that he meant - he just meant - but Tommy's almost fucking _angry_, like he's punishing Adam for being such a fucking tease for so long, and all Adam can do is hold on, trying not to let his knees buckle when Tommy leans back and turns his head - the feel of Tommy's tongue on his neck and the unexpectedly heavy weight of Tommy leaning back against him making Adam want - want "Jesus, fuck, _Tommy_" is all he can manage to say, and he has to hope it's enough, because the sight of Tommy's hand on his cock jerking himself off is more than Adam can stand, and he feels his orgasm - burning through his blood hotter than the air in the bathroom - start to coil at the base of his spine, and he knows it's not going to be long.

"Tommy - Tommy," Adam manages to grit out, watching as Tommy twists his hand up his cock fast and hard, the polish on his nails glinting in the mirror and Adam's fucking _done_. He comes so fucking hard he sees tiny lights behind his eyelids for a second, Tommy heavy against him, still frantically jerking.

Tommy isn't angry. He's fucking desperate. This game with Adam has been going on since the first day they met. He doesn't mind it at first until that kiss at the AMA's that puts Tommy's name on the map and then this thing with Adam just got real. It's around that time that he finally pays attention to what Adam does and says and how he treats Tommy. The invitation to parties, the concert tickets, the _touching_ and the _kissing_. Tommy doesn't know when it happened -- when he actually broke down and started to _feel_ something for Adam. But now he's like a walking boner and sometimes he feels like he's back in high school with some schoolboy crush. The mixed emotions repeatedly tear him apart.

Their bodies were slick with sweat, Tommy's back sliding over Adam's chest so slickly that he could easily sink back with each thrust. When Adam comes Tommy forces his eyes to open in thin slits, watching Adam in complete ecstasy, how his expression changes into pure raw bliss. It's the most beautiful thing Tommy's ever seen.

More movement, more backward thrusts as he impales himself on Adam's cock still inside him and Tommy swears he can feel Adam's dick still pulsing from the tight grip around his hole. He quickens his movements, jerking himself off with an even deeper desperation, moaning loud that both of their moans echo in the small space mixed with slick wet sounds, skin on skin, the slapping of Tommy's hand jerking his cock. All too soon Tommy's body tenses, sweat already dripping down his damp hair that he tosses his head to rid his eyes of the wet fringes, blinking quickly and meeting Adam's eyes in the mirror. "C-coming ... m'gonnna--!"

Adam watches in the mirror, his eyes fixated on Tommy's hand moving faster and faster, his breathing harsh on the back of Tommy's neck. "Yeah," he breathes out, as Tommy spills all over his hand, coming on a long, loud groan that overwhelms the small, hot space. Adam rests his head on the back of Tommy's neck for a moment, breathing hard. Silently, Adam reaches down and pulls out carefully, knotting the condom and throwing it into the wastebasket.

"Turn around," Adam says softly, thumbing the skin at the base of Tommy's neck, not wanting to lose contact. Tommy turns slowly, looking up at Adam from under those fucking _lashes_, breathing hard. Adam kisses him hard and long; sweat and come smearing and sliding over their skin.

"Jesus Christ, we're a mess," he says, wanting to laugh. He reaches back blindly in the tiny bathroom, finding the tap for the shower and turning on a spray of cold water. There's so much he wants to say right now, but he settles for pushing Tommy under the welcome spray and kissing him over and over again as the water cascades over both of them.

Even the water comes out warm but it's still refreshing and better than the sticky sweat and come and lube mess that's all over them both. Tommy closes his eyes and leans against Adam's chest again, the water cascading down their bodies. He likes how this feels - the water and Adam standing naked behind him. It's better than any fantasy he's been harboring in his head all these weeks and months in between Adam's cat and mouse game.

They kiss even more in the shower, arms and legs tangling, wrapping, hands sliding over wet skin and touching while the water flows, raining down on them and making a melodic sound as it hits the plastic curtain and the faux tile floor. Any more touching and Tommy will get hard again, no joke, but that's a bad idea with the other guys due to come back to the bus soon.

They both step out of the shower, Tommy taking a towel and he even helps Adam dry himself off, using that as some lame excuse to keep touching Adam's pale, smooth, freckled skin. He really is beautiful and even in the back of Tommy's mind he is thinking, no, _hoping_ this is not a one time thing. He can't help but commit Adam's naked body to memory, mapping it out with his gaze and his touch. It's for reference, you know? For later if he ever finds himself needing to get himself off alone.

But he's hoping it won't be alone.

That's what bothers him now as they both dress up, still with Tommy reaching out to touch and feel and then he tips his head up for more kisses. "No more games?" he asks Adam, Tommy's face not with his usual stoic expression but serious with an uncertainty that is hiding in the fringes around his dark brown eyes.

Adam smiles a small, private smile as Tommy rubs the towel over his damp skin, the slightly rough surface a welcome distraction from the occasional touches of Tommy's calloused fingers when they slip off the towel on to his skin. He slides a hand around Tommy's neck, reading more than the question in his dark eyes, now clear of eyeliner after the shower, looking wide and almost vulnerable. Adam presses his fingers, once, into the soft skin at Tommy's neck, the feeling of _want_ and _mine_ welling up strong.

There are a lot of things he wants to say right now, but he knows they don't have the time. "No more games," he says, distantly aware of someone knocking on the door as he kisses Tommy again, and again.

In hearing that, Tommy has a secret smile of his own as he kisses Adam back. He looks like the cat that got the cream the way he grins for the rest of the trip no matter how stifling hot it remains on the bus. Like he tells Adam, he's no fucking mouse.  



End file.
